She was in the bathroom, staring in the mirror, with that look she got sometimes. Like no amount of heat could make her warm.
I didn’t need this now. Not with the mother of all meetings tomorrow. The whole Cybertown deal rested on my presentation. I needed to sleep. I needed be sharp. I didn’t need her need.
I realized then I could turn around. She hadn’t seen me. I could slip back out, through the bedroom and down the hall. She could deal with this herself.
She was so very pale.
I walked up, touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong, dear?”
This story was inspired by a similar story which Brene Brown shares in one of her wonderful books, although I can’t recall which one because I’ve read and loved them all. I’ve taken some fictional liberties with the fictionalized account.
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the talented and generous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo prompt courtesy Rochelle! To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.